


If All the Rumors Are True (The Bad Example Remix)

by AstroGirl



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Remix, The Master Has Issues, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:29:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26384917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroGirl/pseuds/AstroGirl
Summary: There are rumors, from a possible future, about the woman who killed the Doctor.  How could the Master not want to know more?
Relationships: Implied (very possibly one-sided) Doctor/Master, mentioned Doctor/River, mild Master/River
Comments: 8
Kudos: 31
Collections: Remix Revival 2020





	If All the Rumors Are True (The Bad Example Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dancingsalome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancingsalome/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Conversation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2857799) by [Dancingsalome](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dancingsalome/pseuds/Dancingsalome). 



The Master has heard rumors.

The woman who killed the Doctor, they say. Who tried until she succeeded, as only an enemy kept close enough might do.

A charming sociopath, they say. Clever and ruthless, they say.

There are other rumors, too, about the exact nature of their relationship. Quite a number of them.

Curiosity has always been a trait of the Master's. Knowledge, after all, is power. The desire to know everything is one of the qualities he and the Doctor have always had in common. 

**

Rumors, by their nature, are usually elusive. But these are orders of magnitude more so than most, coming to him as they do from deep into the future of his personal timeline, and that of the always-advancing moment that is the Gallifreyan Now, the standard by which the entire cosmos's present is defined.

A future that lies on the other side of... _something_. Something dark and discontinuous, a singularity past which all the possibilities are formless and vague, fading in and out of objective reality.

The High Council has always refused to look too closely into that discontinuity, inevitably dismissing it as easily explainable in one idiotic fashion or another. Cowards and fools, all of them. Although it is true that the Master has never investigated the matter in detail, either. He has long enjoyed the idle, amusing fancy that perhaps he himself will be responsible for whatever event it is that disturbs the timelines so thoroughly. Dare he imagine that his life of rebellion and dominance might culminate in such an ultimate, such an undeniable demonstration of power? If that does happen to be the truth, he has no desire to interfere. Not with that.

With other future possibilities, however? Well. That remains to be seen.

Methodically, he reaches into that morass of uncertainty to chase down the information he desires, to locate the future that interests him. It requires a great deal of patience. Sometimes one must simply wait until the winds of causality blow in a favorable direction. 

The Master can be patient, if it gets him what he wants. He can be very, very persistent.

**

At the end of his persistence and his schemes, after threats and bribes and mind control and enough violations of the Laws of Time to mildly scandalize even him, at last he stands before the object of his search, face to face with the woman he seeks through the bars of her Stormcage cell.

It surprises him a little, the depth of his disappointment.

Foolish of him, really. He has had many aliases through the centuries, many identities, but "River Song" scarcely sounds like the sort of name he would ever willingly adopt, no matter what body he might be wearing.

"Do I know you?" she says. "I _really_ hope you're not here for an autograph."

"Certainly not," he says, attempting to dismiss the unwarranted hopes and disproven assumptions from his mind and concentrate on the reality in front of him. "You may not know me, Ms. Song--"

" _Doctor_ Song," she says.

He swallows down his irritation at the interruption and inclines his head. He does, after all, understand the importance of titles. "Very well. _Doctor_ Song. You may not know me, but I believe we have an acquaintance in common."

She regards him thoughtfully for a moment. Her eyes are sharp. Perceptive. Commanding. Is he entirely certain that she's not...? But, no. No, he is positive. He would _know_. 

Abruptly, those eyes of hers widen, light up with surprise, and... is that amusement? "Oh," she says. "Oh. I know who you are, don't I? Yes, he's certainly talked about you." There is something secretive in her smile. He doesn't know which he finds more maddening, that smile or just how badly he wants whatever knowledge lies behind it.

"Oh, yes? All good, I hope." He smiles at her. Smooth. Charming. He gives away nothing.

She makes a rocking, so-so gesture with her hand. 

"I have heard some interesting things about you as well, Dr. Song."

"Oh, yes? Do tell." Her smile is sly. Flirtatious? It's often rather difficult to tell with humans. If she is human. Given the Doctor's unfathomable but consistent preferences in hangers-on, it would seem likely. But could a mere human do what she is reported to have done?

He considers reaching through the bars, grabbing her wrist, and feeling for a double pulse. But that would not give him a definitive answer. There are many species in the universe with one heart, and more than a handful with two.

Instead, he looks into her eyes and reaches out with his will. Not enough to command her, not yet. But enough to push his consciousness against hers. Enough to get a feel for what sort of creature it is that pushes back.

Her mind is solid. Strong. Quick to respond. None of which surprises him. But the feel of it does. Human, yes. But not _only_ human. Human laced with something else, something familiar, in a pattern he has never seen before. Is that even _possible?_

He finds himself reeling backward, reaching out to clasp at one of the bars of the cage to steady himself.

She doesn't move at all. "Like what you see?" she says, her voice damnably casual.

"What _are_ you?" he rasps out. "Human _and_ Time Lord? How is that...?"

"Well," she says. "That would be telling, now, wouldn't it?"

The Master's mind is immense. It can hold a great many thoughts at once, and yet, far too many of them seem to be swirling around inside him just now, trying to connect up in unanticipated ways. 

He looks into her eyes, but does not attempt to make contact again. It is tempting to try, to brute-force his will onto hers and compel her to tell him everything he wants to know. But he does not think it would be easy. 

"What..." he says. His mouth is dry. Intolerable. He is the Master. He does not stumble on his words. "What is the nature of your relationship with the Doctor?"

She stares at him for a moment. Blinks. Her hand flies to her mouth, and he realizes, as her shoulders heave, that she is attempting to stifle a laugh.

"What," he says stiffly, "is so amusing?"

"I'm sorry," she says, between giggles. "I'm sorry. It's just... What you're thinking? No. Just _no_."

"And precisely what is it you believe I am thinking?" He straightens his spine, smooths out his jacket. Dignity. Let her be ridiculous. He will not stoop to her level.

"Of all the things I have ever been to the Doctor, trust me, his daughter is _not_ one of them."

Well. That answers that question, while still explaining precisely nothing. "I heard," he says, trying to keep the tension he feels from his voice, "that you were his wife."

"Yes," she says. "And clearly I can't be both. Even I draw the line _somewhere_."

So simple, so matter-of-fact, that "yes." So it _is_ true. His hearts stutter for a moment at the confirmation, but he refuses to pay attention to them. He has other things to consider. The question he truly came to ask. "I have also heard that you murdered him."

With a roll of her eyes, Dr. Song indicates the cell around her. "Yes, I've heard that one, too."

He leans forward. His face is so close to hers now that he can feel the hot breeze of her breath between the bars. 

_Just don't let her kiss you_ , the guard had said when he came here.

"Tell me. Is he truly dead? _Permanently_ dead?"

She smiles at him. Not the sly, knowing smile now. Not the saucy, flirtatious one, or the laughing one. It's a smile that says she knows this is the answer he cares about. It says she understands. "Do you think a man like the Doctor is that easy to kill?" she says, and her voice is almost gentle.

"No." And there is his answer. One he finds he genuinely believes. 

He need interfere with nothing here. Perhaps he ought to feel relieved.

"Mmm," she says, leaning back a little. "Really, I'd think you'd know that better than anyone. It isn't as if you haven't tried, yourself, is it? Repeatedly, from what I've heard." 

Surprise overtakes him so quickly he fails to hide it. And why should he? What does he care what this person thinks of him? She may mean something to the Doctor, but she is nothing to him. 

"I beg your pardon?" He has never attempted to kill the Doctor. No matter how many times he might have thought about it. No matter how, in the shameless privacy of his mind, he might have imagined the Doctor regenerating at his hands, imagined the Doctor staring into his eyes with the focused intensity of the dying, imagined the look on his face and whether it might resemble...

Dr. Song is laughing again, her expression some complicated amalgam of embarrassment and delight. "Oh, no, _really_? Just how early in your timeline _are_ you?"

He tries to push aside the images in his head, to focus on the present moment. "Excuse me?"

"Oops," she says. "Spoilers."

He finds himself only able to stare at her. 

"Oh dear," she says, in response to whatever expression she is seeing on his face. "Don't tell me I've gone and given you ideas."

She tried to kill him. She tried to kill him, and he married her.

"Oops, indeed," she says. "Tell you what, let's just keep that between us, shall we? I really don't think he needs to know." She leans forward, and once again their faces are close, close enough for their breath to mingle. He can't take his eyes from her lips. Human lips, whatever inexplicable hybrid creature they might belong to. A human mouth, one that the Doctor has... has...

"Why did the guard warn me not to kiss you?" he asks.

Her mouth turns upward, softly. "Try it and find out." 

It's a trap, of course. He knows it must be. But it isn't the first time he has walked into a trap. He's always been able to walk back out again.

Her lips taste of human, and artron energy, and poison, but he imagines he can taste the Doctor on them, too. The memory of the Doctor. The possibility of him. The _possibility_.

He wakes up alone. Uncontrollably, insanely, he begins to laugh.

He sets a course for Earth, and begins to make his plans.


End file.
